


Wanted

by Kangoo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Loneliness, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suspension Of Disbelief, Temporary Character Death, first two chapters are technically in the past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Detective Jack Morrison is put on a serial murder case which, as he investigates, reveals itself to be much bigger than any of them had anticipated.Talon has already killed too many people and ruined too many lives, including his, without any of its opperatives ever getting caught. But now that the case is in his hands, Jack intends to drag the entire criminal organization to hell himself if it's the last thing he ever does.





	Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> [Title source](http://nathanielorion.tumblr.com/post/160142004533/wanted) (I was given [explicit authorization](http://nathanielorion.tumblr.com/post/163876759743/hi-i-was-just-wondering-if-thatd-be-okay-to) to use their poems and intend to put as many of them in this story as I possibly can. They're all beautiful please check it out)
> 
> This was supposed to be short but here we are? I wanted to write a film noir-inspired story not a multi-chapters romantic drama _I can't write romance_
> 
> I have no idea how the SWAT actually works so bear with me.

_A wolf’s heart, when breaking, sounds like a smoke alarm. Fifteen wolves’ hearts breaking is a car crash on the highway, howls drowned out by the shriek of police sirens and fire trucks._

_What does a human heart sound like when it splinters?_

[L'appel du vide](http://nathanielorion.tumblr.com/post/159142598628/lappel-du-vide) - nathaniel orion g. k.

 

Jack had hoped, after a long day spent patrolling, that he could take a shower, eat yesterday’s leftovers and watch shitty reality tv on his couch, maybe even go to bed at a decent hour and get nine full hours of sleep for once. Instead he’s dragged out of his impromptu nap in front of The Great British Bake Off by the ringing of his phone at ten past seven. The name _Ana_ glares at him, too bright to his tired eyes, and he’s answering the call before he’s even awake.

 

The detective doesn’t bother with a ‘hello’ or any kind of politeness. “We got an hostage situation,” She says.

 

Or maybe she did, and Jack didn’t pay attention: the word ‘hostage’ is the first thing his sleep-addled mind notices and the last thing he hears before he’s throwing his phone on the couch and running to his bedroom to get clothes. It takes him maybe thirty seconds to realize he needs more than just ‘hostage’ to do his job, and he backtracks quickly to get his phone. Ana doesn’t appear to have noticed his brief disappearance.

 

Jack stumbles into his pants and painstakingly buttons them one-handed while Ana gives him the coordinates of the scene and a few details on the situation. It doesn’t take long before he realizes it’s not working, at least not fast enough, and he compromises between getting dressed and listening to the rapid-fire briefing he’s being given by holding his phone between his shoulder and his cheek while he throws on his SWAT uniform.

 

Three minutes later and he’s a little more awake and fully dressed. He throws open his front door, run to his car and jumps into the driver's seat in the time it takes Ana to end the call with a worrisome, “Get here as fast as local laws will allow. Faster, if possible.”

 

Jack floors it.

 

\--

 

The scene is this: an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city, surrounded by police cruisers, the sky bleeding from blue to pale gold as the sun sets.

 

Night is falling but the day is far from ending for Jack Morrison.

 

His car skids to a halt in a cloud of dust. There already are a few other people present, all wearing a SWAT uniform except for Ana, who’s speaking with a man in a regular police uniform and getting increasingly somber as the conversation goes on.

 

Gabriel sees him getting out of the car and flashes him a brief, tense smile before it drops and he goes back to his usual stoic self. Although, now that he’s paying attention to it — and with the help of years of knowing each other — Jack notices the way his fingers moves in almost-jerks, like he wants to fidget but doesn’t allow himself to. And it takes a special kind of stress to make _Gabe_ , of all people, fidget.

 

Jack jogs to him. “Talk to me, Gabe. What’s going on?”

 

“Ana didn’t brief you?”

 

“She told me there were hostages, and where to come.” He rubs his neck and grins sheepishly. “She woke me up, so I might have missed a thing or two.”

 

It drags a small chuckle from Gabriel. “Typical Morrison.” He sobers down quickly and adds, “We suspect the kidnappers might be affiliated with Talon.”

 

Hearing that, Jack loses his smile as well.

 

The crime organization with terrorist tendencies _Talon_ crawled out of the shadows a year or so ago and it has been one hell of a thorn in the police’s side ever since. There’s no criminal activity they haven’t dabbled with, from bombings to burglary and data thief, and they’re scarily efficient at it. They’re pretty much new in the criminal world and yet they’ve already climbed high up the food chain: in a city like theirs, it’s quite a feat.

 

To this day, none of their members has been apprehended, not for lack of trying. Each time the investigation seems to advance in some way, something happens and set them back again.

 

They had come the closest to discovering anything of substance three months ago when Gérard Lacroix had been put in charge of the case. He suspected Talon was implicated in his wife’s disappearance two weeks earlier and had thrown himself into his work. Nothing beats the motivation of a lover desperate for answers, especially when it comes to Gérard, who would rather be working than sleep on any given day. He would have foregone sleep and food altogether in favor of working on the case if it hadn’t been for his friends urging him to rest every now and then, before he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

 

It had not stopped him from working himself to the bones, night after sleepless night, when he was barely held together by anything but coffee and obsession. It’s on one of those nights that he had called Jack, voice faintly wavering but still strong and sure.

 

“I have found something— big. Too big for you and me,” He had said. “I can’t talk about it on the phone. Someone might be listening.”

 

Someone wiser or maybe more paranoid than him would immediately have arranged a meeting with Gérard after hearing the fear in his voice, so out of place in a man usually fearless in the face of the worse the city could offer. But Jack was a bit too naive at the time, a bit too trusting maybe, to recognize the urgency of the situation for what it was.

 

Instead, all he had heard was the five hours of sleep Gérard had had in the last three days, the way his words blended together and made a little less sense than they should, and he had said, “Get some sleep, Gérard. We’ve been running after them for months, now: one night can’t make such a difference.”

 

(This one _did._ )

 

For a moment it had seemed like Gérard would ignore him and come over anyway, and Jack would have let him, if only to make sure he’d get some rest on his couch, away from the ghosts of his empty apartment. In the end, Gérard chose to trust him. He trusted his judgement and agreed to come by later, once he was less delirious with sleep deprivation.

 

Except he would never have the opportunity to do so because they found him dead on his kitchen floor in the morning.

 

Whatever informations he had on Talon were lost with him. They’ve been at a standstill since. Jack can’t help but feel like it’s his fault, and in a way it is. There’s a hundred things he could have done better that night and he might not be able to change them, but he can still wonder what would have change if he had done things differently. If Gérard would still be alive. If they’d have found Amélie by now.

 

Gabriel, with his uncanny ability to know exactly what Jack is thinking, leans against him in silent support. He always knows when to comfort Jack and when to get him out of his own head: maybe today, he needs the former. Last time he thought about the Lacroix, Gabriel threw a book at him and told him to ‘lighten the fuck up and stop brooding already’, before asking him to leave the brooding to the professionals before he ruined both their images. He can’t deny both methods are efficient but still.

 

Jack flashes him a grateful smile and asks, “So, what are we dealing with, exactly?”

 

“The group is apparently an independent branch of Los Muertos: at least that’s what they claimed. They hijacked the school bus of a fourth-grade class as it was going on a field trip and brought the thirteen children and their teacher here before asking for a ransom of fourteen millions.” He sighs deeply, and his fingers drum restlessly on his assault rifle. He has a soft spot for children and a special kind of hate for situations putting them in danger. It makes him anxious but, more importantly, it makes him _angry_. “They— ‘agreed’ to lower the ransom, but they’ll kill one children per missing million. ”

 

Jack shakes his head. “What a deal.”

 

“Well, it means we got the right to shoot on sight, so.”

 

That’s definitely a good thing. Behind Gabriel he sees Ana, who says a few last words to the police officer before he leaves. He waves her over.

 

“What are you doing here, Detective?”

 

“Completely unrelated case led me to these assholes so they dumped this whole mess in my hands.” She shrugs and, as is usual with her, doesn’t bother with small talk before she asks the important question, “So, what’s the plan? The situation’s a bit too tense for the usual protocol.”

 

She an amazing detective. Jack is always glad to work with her.

 

He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, considering their choices. “I have an idea, but—” _Gabriel won’t like it_. He shrugs lightly. “Do we have a map of the building?”

 

“There’s one in the case file.” She takes a few steps away from them before she stops and adds, “We’re going to create a safe perimeter around the site, keep civies out and such. Anything you want us to do while we’re at it?”

 

“Call for medical aid, maybe.”

 

“You’re expecting troubles?”

 

He looks at her in a way that he hopes convey the ‘ _duh_ ’ burning his tongue and says, “I don’t know. Better safe than sorry, anyway.”

 

“You got it, kid.” She gives him a two-fingers salute and aims straight for her men, already giving orders left and right.

 

Jack shakes his head. Kid, right: she’s not even a full decade older than him. He looks at his second-in-command. “Gabe, could you round up the men for me? Check if everyone’s here. I’m going to grab the file real quick.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Jack is skimming through the file when Gabriel comes back, a handful of minutes later, with the twelve other members of the team. Ana had been investigating the place because of its connection to another gang, one not connected to Talon in any way, and had — among other things — bribed a few drug dealers for photos of the inside. Her research were invaluable, if used in a rather unexpected manner.

 

He looks up at his team and snaps the file close. “Alright, make a circle, it’ll be easier— good.” Once Jack is sure everyone has a clear line of sight on him, he crouches on the ground and lay the hand drawn plan of the warehouse flat. He circles the main doors with a finger. “Here’s the main entry. And this—” He points to a picture of a small-ish area surrounded by shelves and old boxes and where it stands on the map, “Is where the fourteen hostages are kept. We do not know how many criminals we are facing, or how dangerous they are.” He points to a few other entries, most on the same side as the main doors, and ends with a room behind the main space, on the other side of the building from where they are. “There are two back doors to the building, on each side of this corridor.”

 

“That’s— not good.”

 

They all look at the plan with a feeling of dread. The situation is far from ideal — they’re basically going in blind.

 

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Jack settles on saying. He sighs, and continues. “I’ll go in first with the money, alone and unarmed—” Gabriel makes a noise of protest and he holds up a finger, a sign to let him finish. “I’ve been told they specifically asked for any armed force to stay _outside_ the building and I intend to make a show of good faith.” Gabriel looks disgruntled, but doesn't raise any more objection. Jack continues, “I’ll distract them however I can and communicate their number to you through your comms. While I do that, the rest of you will sneak through the back of the building as quietly as possible and surround the main area: if there are guards, and I expect there will be, dispatch them _silently_ before they can warn the others. Once you’re in place, wait for the signal. I think it will be easier to either dispatch the criminals or disarm them this way, depending on their number and weapons. Any questions?”

 

Bayless lifts his hand. “Should we try to take them in for questioning?”

 

Jack stands up, taking the map with him as he does, and replies, “Your priority is to protect the hostages first and foremost. If they shoot first, I trust you to do _anything_ to deal with the threat.”

 

“You’ll be unarmed— what will you do if — when — a fight breaks out?” Kimiko asks. Like Gabriel, she looks like she isn’t convinced by his plan. They don’t have the time to put one of Gabriel’s brilliant scheme in motion: all they have is Jack. It’s a pretty good plan nonetheless, if he says so himself.

 

“I’ll stay with the hostages to make sure they’re safe. Gabriel?” His second-in-command snaps out of his thoughts and looks sharply at him. He was obviously spacing out, but Jack doesn’t worry about it: they’ve been fighting alongside each other for so long they practically live in each other’s head by now. He probably already knew what Jack was going to say before he said it. “Can you take a second rifle?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Good. Any other question?”

 

Nobody speaks up. None of them like the idea of running in blind, but this is a team of fourteen very well trained individuals: things will probably go better than he expects them to.

 

He hopes so.

 

They disperse for last-minute adjustments. Jack goes back to his car to shed out his most obvious equipment until he’s left in his dark blue uniform, without even a bulletproof jacket to keep him alive. It feels a little like going in naked, too, but he’ll have to make do with what little protection they’ll let him wear — and a microphone, which they don’t have to know about, to keep in contact with his team.

 

“If this plan doesn’t get you killed, I’m treating you to dinner,” Gabriel says from where he’s watching him lay down his protection with furrowed brows.

 

Jack hands him his rifle and says, “Oh, a real restaurant for once? Talk about a reason to stay alive.” He likes In-n-Out as much as the next man but sometimes you just want to get treated to real food in actual plates. “Italian?”

 

“Like I’d bother putting on pants on a week-end for anything less.”

 

“It’s a date, then.”

 

Gabriel throws his arm over Jack’s shoulder and drags him forward until he’s plastered against him. His body armor digs uncomfortably in Jack’s chest, but it’s easily overlooked when it feels so nice to have him so close. It feels easier to breath when they stand like that, forehead to forehead, sharing the same air.

 

“Don’t get yourself killed out there, alright?” He whispers.

 

“I promise. And I need you alive to take me to dinner, so don’t get yourself shot, okay?” Jack whispers back.

 

Gabriel chuckles. “You’re high maintenance, Morrison.”

 

“You love it.”

 

He steps back, but there’s a spark in his eyes that replaced the worry that darkened them moments before. “I do, unfortunately.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘unfortunately’?” Jack is laughing now, the weight on his shoulder lifted by Gabriel’s presence only. He lightly hits Gabriel’s chest. He won’t even feel it, with his tactical vest on, but it’s the thought that counts. “You _dick_.”

 

“You love me!” Gabriel is laughing too, and it’s the most wonderful sound in the world.

 

“Do I, though? _Do I really?_ ” This time he’s the one who gets hit, and he kind of deserves it. “Yeah, alright. I love you. Even though you’re a dick.”

 

“Aw, Morrison!” He holds one hand to his heart. “Such sweet words, I’m not sure my heart can bear it.”

 

He’s about to reply when Kimiko’s voice interrupt him. “Cut it out, both of you. Everyone’s ready. It’s time to move.”

 

They separate reluctantly. Jack takes the black case she hands him without a word, but he can see she’s smiling.

 

\--

 

The heavy metal door closes behind Jack with a loud _bang_ and he’s left to stand alone. The last rays of sunlight filter through the high, narrow windows of the warehouse, and even with the neon lights scattered around the room they don’t quite succeed at dissipating the shadows growing in the dusty corners of the building.

 

He looks around, matching up the pictures he still has in mind with what he sees now. A few things have been moved, someone nailed wood planks to one of the side doors — nothing too important. More importantly, it’s not empty; this difference he expected.

 

Maybe it’s because the door he entered by is just a little off center, maybe it’s because he’s looking for them, either way his eyes are immediately drawn to the group of children huddled in a corner. They all look worse for wear, curled against each others, covered in dust and rust from sitting on the dirty ground and against old metal shelves. Some look up when they hear him come in, and they watch him approach with tired eyes dimmed by wariness and fear. Their teacher is younger than he is by a decade at least and she doesn’t quite get up from where she’s sitting but she moves to the side, as if to hide — to protect — her students from Jack.

 

It’s been a rough day for them and he fears it’s about to get worse.

 

But they’re all alive and conscious, so he makes himself look away and to the center of the room. There, eleven men watch him slowly walk away from the door. They don’t look professional, but they don’t look like amateurs either — truly, they look like someone mixed a gang and a mercenary unit together and threw the result in a Hot Topic, clad in all black with bandanas to cover their faces and heavy assault rifle resting in their arms. One of them looks away slightly and tilts his head to the side with two fingers held to his ear. Jack grimly notes the comm he wears; it means there’s someone pulling the strings behind the scene, and each second makes it more likely for that puppet master to be Talon. The general aesthetic of the scene alone is enough to make it more than likely: from what little they saw of the elusive organization, they love their black leather.

 

Jack drums his fingers on his leg, close enough to his mic for the signal to be heard. Eleven beats for eleven men, a pause, and three more for the weapons they hold. He keeps walking. Let them believe it’s a nervous tic rather than something deliberate: they look green enough to eat it up.

 

He repeats the sequence three times before taking a long, deep breath and relaxing his arm at his side. He hopes they believe he’s nervous. It’s always a good thing to be underestimated.

 

Jack stops a few steps away from the criminals, close enough for a polite, peaceful transaction like the one they’re all pretending to want. It takes a moment, but the one with the comm finally let his hand fall away from his face and looks him in the eyes. His bandana gives him a skeletal grin and it would be a little intimidating if it didn’t look so _stupid_ , especially with the sunglasses he also wears despite the dim light.

 

“Jack Morrison,” Skullface greets him, and he may not be able to see his eyes or his mouth but he just knows the guy’s smiling in a way that is way too condescending for a man with barely half the training Jack has received. He must be the leader: he’s smug enough for that.

 

“You know me? I’m flattered.”

 

“My employer told us about you.”

 

So they’re not working alone, just as he thought. Jack hopes the team manage to bring at least one of them alive for questioning. In the corner of his eye he notices one of the children curl a little more on himself and he thinks, ‘ _alive, yes, but unharmed is another matter entirely’._ With all the blood that undoubtedly stains their hands, he’s sure they could spare a pint of blood or three.

 

Whoever Skullface hears in his earpiece must not approve of his careless dispense of informations because he winces wordlessly and doesn’t say anything more on that subject. Instead he demands, “Come closer.”

 

“I'd rather not, if that's all the same to you.”

 

“I have to insist.”

 

_‘Peaceful meeting_ ’, Jack thinks, and steps forward. His grips on the black case tightens.

 

Skullface holds out a hand but, instead of taking the case he thrusts in his direction, he lets it rest on Jack’s face. His gloved thumb brushes against his cheekbone in mocking tenderness. Jack grits his teeth and averts his eyes. If he looks at those obnoxious sunglasses he won’t be able to stop himself from punching the man in the face.

 

“Not so confident anymore, eh pretty boy?” Skullface says. “Now, let’s see what you got there.”

 

His hand falls from Jack’s face — he resists the urge to sigh in relief — to the black case. Just as his fingers brush its handle, there’s a loud _bang_ , a yell in the distance, and the sound of boots thumping on the floor as the rest of the SWAT team bursts into the room.

 

Years of active duty have honed Jack’s survival instinct into hair-trigger reflexes and that have kept him alive countless times before. It’s the only thing that saves him now: when the eleven criminals all reach for their weapons, ready to shoot on sight, he throws himself backward and swings the case as hard as he can. It goes airborne and collides with the leader’s face with a _crunch_ of broken bones. Skullface staggers back a few steps. His sunglasses fly across the room and bounce on the ground twice, leaving shards of tinted glass in their path.

 

It’s not much of a signal, but that’s all his team needs; they open fire immediately.

 

Jack falls painfully on his shoulder as all hell breaks loose. It hurts, but not as much as if he had been hit by the bullets that tear through the space he occupied a mere second ago. He doesn’t escape them all: a few fly wider than the others and leave bloody lines on his cheek and his arms where they brush him.

 

Reluctant to see if they’d manage to aim right next time, he rolls behind a rusted shelf, panting and swearing, and it can barely be called a cover but it should be enough to buy him a second or two.

 

And what more does he need, really?

 

Not much, as it turns out: they turn their attention to the armed reinforcement as soon as he disappears from their sight. They know where the real threat is.

 

Gabriel leads the charge in a way that looks like he’s actually _leading_ rather than running for his life, and Jack can see him making up a whole new plan of attack in the span of time it takes his eyes to sweep the room. It’s in those moments that Jack wonders why he refused to be the leader — usually until he remembers how unabashedly undiplomatic Gabriel becomes once he’s frustrated enough. With their job being what they are — public, weighed down with endless paperwork and press conferences — it’s no surprise he’d rather stay in the background, where he doesn’t have to deal with people. Gabriel is a hardass and a ruthlessly efficient soldier, and he’s a leader who inspires a loyalty that goes beyond duty, but he’s _terrible_ at working with people he dislikes. Jack is a bit better at wearing a smile for the important people.

 

Jack still wished Gabriel had recommended someone else, sometimes, but ultimately he’s glad he didn’t: there’s no one Jack trusts more to get things done right and keep his people safe than himself. At least he knows he’s doing his best.

 

But there is a time and place to think about how competent he is at his job and it’s not here, where a bullet could ricochet against a wall and kill him at any time. His cover is less than ideal, out in the open and not half as tall as it ought to be to protect him, and it’s only a matter of seconds before someone notices him and choose him as an easy target.

 

The only way is forward now.

 

Jack doesn’t think twice about it. He runs like his life depends on it — and it does —, ducking behind abandoned pieces of furnitures and piles of junk as he makes his way to the other side of the room. His erratic movements go unnoticed in the absolute chaos the SWAT’s sudden arrival created. He’s fast and focused where the others are weighed down by their equipments and stretched out between their multiple enemies, all dispersed through the wide open space: it’s not all that hard to keep to the edges, where the shadows are darker and people don’t think to look first.

 

Although it probably shaves off a decade off Singh’s life when he jumps out of a dark corner right in front of him, and he’s lucky the man doesn’t shoot before he thinks twice about it. Instead he waves his weapon around and widens his eyes dramatically, mouthing a disbelieving ‘ _really?_ ’ when the sound of gunfire drowns out everything he’d like to say to his reckless leader. Jack smile semi-apologetically.

 

A bullet hits the corner behind which they’re hidden and they both jump as bits of cement fly around. One brushes against Jack’s cheek, leaving behind a faint but bloody line, and he swears. He’s getting sloppy. Unattentive.

 

They turn in the direction from which the shot came just in time to see the man aiming for them falling on the ground with a wail, his hand pressed to his bloody shoulder. Gabriel steps over him and jogs to them with a frown, clearly disapproving of their carelessness although he does not voice his displeasure beyond a quiet sigh that Jack only notice because he’s used to hearing it. Jack rushes in and Gabriel follows while making annoyed sounds and rolling his eyes: it’s been a thing for as long as they’ve known each others.

 

Gabriel throws him his rifle as soon as he’s in range and he catch it with a grateful nod. He feels defenseless without a weapon, defenseless and useless, and he’s glad to see it disappears with the added weight of cold metal between his bare fingers.

 

The initial commotion of the firefight dies down a little as both side takes the time to think about a plan of action, and Jack profits of the lull in action to say, “I distinctly recall telling you to do this _silently_ , Gabe.”

 

“I’m not a miracle worker, Morrison.” Gabe replies. He rolls his eyes in a way that tells Jack he was about to say ‘I don’t’ before he realized implying he wasn’t listening to the briefing — an habit of his they were both perfectly aware of — where Singh could hear him wasn’t such a good idea. It wouldn’t do to give him ideas.

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

“Stop judging my subtlety—”

 

“Or lack thereof,” Jack interjects and is ignored.

 

“— And go look after the hostages before someone use your uncovered, squishy chest as target practice.”

 

“My chest isn’t squishy!” He says indignantly, briefly falling back into the familiarity of his banter with Gabriel, and almost crosses his arms on said chest before he remembers he’s holding a gun.

 

Gabriel pins him down with a glare and says, “Without a bulletproof vest, it very much _is_ .” He cuts Jack before he can add anything with, “ _Go,_ Morrison.”

 

He goes, but not before hearing Singh comments, “I still wonder why _he’s_ the leader, when you’re clearly the one bossing all of us around.”

 

“Get out of my sight before I use you as a diversion, Singh.”

 

“Yes, boss!”

 

Jack doesn’t laugh — the warehouse is quickly becoming a war zone and he’s already lost too much time — but he does throw a cheeky smile and a wink at Singh before he runs off in the direction of the hostages. He darts between covers once again, the rifle a comforting weight in his palms.He’s still woefully unprotected but it helps in a way beyond pure practicality. He’s not really intending to use it: he’s not keen on risking either the children’s lives or their mental health by shooting a man to death in front of their eyes but still, it’s reassuring to know he will be able to make the choice himself if it comes to it.

 

And it might come to it faster than he expected. Especially since there’s one of the thug standing next to the hostages, waving the barrel of his gun at them. Jack can’t hear what he’s saying from the distance yet he knows, from the look on the children’s faces, that it’s nothing good.

 

He’s turning his back to the fight and, more importantly, to _Jack_. A rookie mistake. Who are these people, dressed like soldiers and acting like bottom feeders of the criminal world? If it’s really Talon employing them, why choose a shitty gang amongst the many competent criminals in the city?

 

But as strange as it may be, it’s a question for another place and another time. For now, Jack can only use this weakness to his advantage.

 

Jack runs straight for the man, his footsteps drowned out in screams and gunfire. He decides against pulling the trigger at the last second, choosing instead the less lethal option of swinging his gun as hard as he can,. With his momentum, the blow is strong enough that the butt of the gun makes a loud _thump_ when it connects with the back of the thug’s head, and his victim crumbles to the ground with a surprised gasp. Jack nudges him with the tip of his foot, but he’s out cold; blood trickles down his neck sluggishly. He’s alive, but he’ll wake up with one hell of a headache. Just in case he does so earlier than expected, Jack drives the heel of his boot into his right hand —  with the way it sounds, he won’t be using it anytime soon — and slips the gun he dropped into his belt.

 

There’s half a confident smile stretching his lips when he turns fully to the hostages. It wavers when he sees the teacher, closer than he expected and looking at him with a burning fury in her eyes. She’s scared out of her mind, shaking all over and red-eyed from crying, but she grips his shoulder all the same and her broken nails dig into his flesh like she’s ready to throw him across the room with her bare hands if he tries to do anything to her students.

 

She narrows her eyes and looks at him from head to toes like she’s figuring out what or who he is, and she doesn’t seem impressed by the result. Faintly relieved, yes, but— well, Gabriel is impressive enough for the two of them. Jack has the dashing good looks but once he’s out of uniform he just looks like a guy who calls you ‘bro’ and disobeys direct orders for shits and giggles. Gabriel calls it his frat boy look and it’s been the bane of his existence for as long as he’s been a cop.

 

He stopped being offended by this kind of reactions years ago. Instead he channels his inner Captain America and schools his features into a serious but kind neutrality, looking every bit the commanding officer he is. He offers his hand to the teacher and introduces himself, “SWAT Captain Jack Morrison, and I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you but,” He gestures in the general direction of the firefight still going on behind them, “I think none of us takes any pleasure in being here.”

 

She lets go of his shoulder and shakes his hand instead, firmly. “Emily Hooper, and it’s my genuine pleasure to meet you. I’m just glad someone is here to help, finally.”

 

He bows his head slightly, not quite a nod but an agreement nonetheless. “So am I."

 

Now that she’s no longer convinced he’s out for their blood, she takes a step back and stumbles, her right leg giving out under her weight once adrenaline and sheer stubbornness leave her body. Jack catches her before she falls to the ground and lowers her down gently, a worried frown etched on his face.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks, rather uselessly.

 

“I tried to take a gun,” She says. “So they broke my leg.”

 

Well, that was a stupid decision, but Jack is impressed all the same. “And you’re standing?” He shakes his head. Women are scary. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help with that,” He says. “As my partner likes to say, I’m not a miracle worker.”

 

“Get us out of here, that’ll be miraculous enough.”

 

He snorts. “Yeah, alright. I can do that.”

 

Once he’s made sure Emily isn’t about to bleed to death, Jack takes the time to look at the children sitting a few feet from their guardian. Most of them are crying or have tears tracks drying on their cheeks, and a few have scraped knees and elbows from the rough treatments they’ve been put through. They’re taking it better than he expected fourth graders to, all things considered, but — god, was he ever that small, that vulnerable? It’s hard to imagine. How could anyone go after something so fundamentally harmless as _kids_ ? That people would feel the urge to commit crimes he can understand to a point, but to go after _children_ —

 

They watch him, red-eyed and silent, and he sighs heavily.

 

“May I?” He asks Emily, jerking his head in their direction.

 

She thinks about it for a moment before she says, “Knock yourself out. Be gentle, though: they’ve had a terrifying day.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Jack relaxes his stance and tries to make himself less threatening, with— varying success, if the looks on the kids’ faces are anything to go by. With another, lighter sigh, he props his gun against the overthrown shelves they use as cover and crouches back down to their level.

 

“Hello,” He says. “My name is Jack. I’m with the police.”

 

The children all reply with their name in a quiet chorus of voices. It reminds him of long summer days spent looking after his sisters, scrambling up to find ways to occupy them that aren’t walking all the way to the neighbors’ farm just to throw rocks at their windows. All children remind him of his sisters, an infinite amount of energy and potential for trouble folded into the smallest human being possible.

 

One of them in particular — she has the same freckles, like stars across her whole face, and the same fierce look in her eyes. She’s like a tiny lioness with a mane of bright red hair and blood drying under her nose. She looks on the verge of tears, and he wonders if she stays quiet to hide the way her voice wavers when she speaks.

 

That’s not something any kid should have to go through.

 

“Hey there,” He says and turns in her direction. “What’s your name?”

 

“D— Diana.” Her voice sounds muffled and halfway to a sob but she holds her chin up and stubbornly refuses to cry. Brave girl.

 

“It’s good to meet you, Diana.” He keeps his voice as calm as he can with the situation around them. It can help to see someone who looks like they have everything under control, even if it’s a lie. “Everything is going to be fine, alright? We’re here now, the bad guys can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

Anyone with sense would know that there might be no hope to the situation and would call him on his bluff, but kids? They don’t know any better. They still have trust in uniforms and authority figures. Still think adults have their shits together. And it’s easy to use this, to fall back into being a big brother with kind eyes and placating lies on his tongue. It’s just a matter of pretending they’re like his sisters after a nightmare and holding it together just a moment longer.

 

He thinks he’s on the right tracks when she nods instead of bursting into tears, up until he holds out his hand to her and she jerks back, eyes flying to a spot just above his shoulder. She’s not afraid of him — it’d be a good thing if the alternative wasn’t a worse option.

 

He turns sharply, one hand going to a gun that’s slightly too far, and he thinks, ‘ _I should have shot that guy’._

 

Instead of a pissed-off thug, his eyes meet Gabriel’s as he jumps over their improvised cover and all the tension leaves Jack’s body all at once at the sight. His hand falls back to his side and he grins through the sudden spike of adrenaline that makes his heart hammers in his chest and echoes in his ears. If Gabriel is aware of the small heart attack he gave to Jack, he doesn’t show it. He takes a knee next to him and throws a cursory glance around before he allows himself to give his full attention to his friend.

 

The children don’t immediately relax — or at least go back to their previous, slightly less anxious behavior — but it is to be expected. Gabriel is quite the sight, after all: there's blood drying on his chin and he's grinning despite the cut in his lip, wild and hungry with dark, burning eyes. He just hopes they’ll understand, by his own body language, that Gabriel is one of the good guys.

 

“How are things?”

 

“Pretty good. We’ve dispatched seven of them, counting the one you knocked out, and I expect the last four won’t be too much of a problem,” He says. “I thought I might as well come and cover you, as you seem to be on babysitting duty for now.”

 

Jack shrugs: it’s mostly true. That’s when he notices that Gabriel is, oddly enough, unarmed. Of course he wouldn’t leave a firefight just to ‘cover him’. He lifts an eyebrow and says, “You’ve lost your gun, didn’t you.”

 

He shrugs, unapologetic. “Yeah. I didn’t have any ammunition left, so—”

 

“Did you use throw it at someone again?”

 

“No?” He puts a hand on his heart like he’s not telling blatant lies, not really _smiling_ but looking just that much happier— less gloomy? He never looks happy on the job. “Anyway, I thought I could take yours, seeing you won’t be using it.”

 

“You carried it here, might as well use it.”

 

He doesn’t really have to say it — Gabriel is already taking it before he finishes his phrase. He positions himself in its place, leaving Jack to the babysitting — as he so eloquently put it — in favor of doing what his job actually expects him to: waiting for criminals to shoot at.

 

Jack is used to it, though. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that an offer of protection in a dangerous combat zone is the closest Gabriel ever comes to calling him pet names in public, although it took him an honestly embarrassing amount of time to realize it. Ana enjoys reminding him of the months he spent taking Gabriel’s unusually overprotective flirting for condescension. Gérard, did, too, until he had to suffer through weeks of teasing because he had the unfortunate habit of turning into an awkward, lovesick idiot as soon as Amélie entered the room.

 

And then he died and Jack couldn’t even laugh with him about how sickeningly sweet they both were with their lover anymore.

 

But Jack has a job to do too, even if it feels less like being a cool cop and more like he’s back in his early teenage years, when the twins were born and he had no idea how he was supposed to take care of them without accidentally killing them. He’s just as out of his depth now, surrounded with children who are a loud sound too many away from bursting into tears. He racks his brain for something to distract them just as he remember doing with his sisters and finally decides to fall back on something he knows and love — and that’s unlikely to make things worse.

 

“Do you know you have the same name as a superhero, Diana?” He says, “Wonder Woman. She’s very strong: no one can beat her.”

 

“My brother has comics about her at home, I think.”

 

He sighs, relieved. He can talk about siblings. He knows those. “You have a brother?”

 

“Y— Yeah. He’s older than me.”

 

She fiddles with his sleeve with restless fingers and he’s surprised to see her so close. His eyes widen when he realizes all the children have crawled closer and are now sitting in a circle with him at the center, their previous wariness replaced by childish curiosity. A bullet lands not too far from their hide-out and they all collectively shudder at the sound it makes but, instead of recoiling, their come _closer_. Reassured, it seems, by his mere presence. At least it makes it easier to bring their attention back on himself, away from the grim reality of the events unfolding around them.

 

“How old is he?” He asks Diana.

 

She looks up again. “He’s sixteen. He’s, huh. He’s in highschool now.”

 

“I’m sure he’d be very proud of how brave you are right now,” He reassures her.

 

She sniffs. When he looks at her face, he sees unshed tears gathering in her eyelashes.

 

“I’m not brave. I’m really, really scared,” She says, like she’s ashamed of it.

 

“It’s alright to be scared. Everyone is scared sometimes: it’s what you do when you’re afraid that’s important,” He says. He offers her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You’re _very_ brave, Diana. Like Wonder Woman.”

 

Another kid — Marco, he thinks — frowns at him. “ _You’re_ not scared.”

 

“Do you want to know a secret?” His gaze wanders over their expectant faces and when he leans forward, they do too. “I’m really, really scared too.”

 

“But you don’t _look_ scared,” One says, looking unconvinced.

 

“It’s my job to save people. I can’t let my fear stop me from doing that.” He stops, to show that what he’s about to say is very important, and puts as much belief as he can in his next words. “Being scared is normal, and sometimes it’s a good thing. Fear can be useful. But you can’t let it stops you from doing what’s right, okay? That’s what makes you brave.”

 

“How do you know what’s right?”

 

“You’re smart children. I trust you to know it when you see it.”

 

He’s making all of it up as he goes but Jack still gets a minute of silence after that while the children mull over his words, and then one of them is asking if there’s any superhero called Danny — there are — and he’s roped into a discussion on comics by a pack of eager eight year old.

 

At least they forgot about the chaos around them, for now. Jack is so used to it that it’s little more than background noise at this point; the feeling of dust in his throat and the smell of gunpowder are a familiar weight at the back of his mind. He’s not overjoyed at the idea of children learning the same coping mechanisms as he had to, but there’s nothing he can do against that. At least his pep talk — what has his life come to? — seems to have helped in getting their mind off the firefight.

 

Gabriel lightly taps his shoulder and he holds one hand in front of the children in the universal sign for ‘wait’. They stop talking and he flashes them a quicksilver smile before he turns to his best friend.

 

“What’s the situation?”

 

Gabriel shrugs one shoulder. “There’s one guy left for the fourteen  of us. Well, twelve — neither of us really count, as it is. He’s damn resilient though.”

 

“Good.”

 

Unfortunately, he talked too soon. Thinking about it, he probably jinxed it, because as soon as he says the one word, silence — true, unwavering silence — falls. He looks up sharply, surprised at the sudden lack of noise, and sees the last thug standing behind the crumbling pile of stones and scrap metal he was probably using as cover. He realizes with a start that it’s Skullface, standing there with his hands held above his head in surrender. His glasses are gone but the bandana is still around his neck, grinning. The absence of the accessories reveal the face of a tired man with cruel eyes and a mouth twisted into a perpetual grimace by a scar that runs from the corner of his eye to his chin.

 

This is not the face of a man who surrenders.

 

His soldiers lower their weapon a few inches. By the time they see the device in Skullface’s closed hand, it’s too late: his smile is all teeth and threat when he reveals it.

 

“I paid my debt,” He says to no one in particular, and presses the button.

 

Jack’s scream is swallowed by the flames.

 

\--

 

Instinct lives in the space that stands still between two heartbeats — faster than lightning, faster than thought. It’s pure survival learned through blood and written in fire in human flesh. It’s thousand of years of evolution and a decade of relentless training curled up into a breath, sparkling electricity running through his veins like they’re live wires.

 

Instinct makes the world slower, so slow it becomes motionless, fire frozen in place and blooming to the rhythm of each beat of Jack’s hammering heart. It feels like being underwater, everything quiet, sluggish and muffled. His fingers twitch, hand reaching for the children and they are so many, there’s nothing he can do to protect all of them—

 

And then everything snaps back in place like a rubberband and Gabriel throws himself to the ground and his hand is curled in Jack’s shirt, he’s dragging Jack with him, _under_ him, pressed against the cold dust as if his body could be enough of a shield against the doors of hell opening at their back. Instinct, the great predator between his ribs, disappears like the receding tide and leaves behind the taste of ashes on his lips and heat on his skin, adrenaline burning in his limbs and making his heart pounds like war drums in his ears.

 

For a moment it’s all he can hear. His heartbeat and Gabriel’s, echoing where his back is pressed against Gabriel’s chest. Everything else is muted, sounds and colors washed out by the explosion. He’s dizzy with whiplash and what little he can see seems to be turning faster than he is, and he’d probably be turning too if it wasn’t for the weight anchoring him to the floor.

 

It takes some times for Gabriel to take his bearings, too. Jack can feel him trying to get up, slow and disoriented by their fall, until he starts coughing and stops feeling much of anything beyond the burn of his throat scratched raw by the smoke.

 

Gabriel scrambles up and sways on his feet while Jack coughs up what feels like half a lung. The dust isn’t helping in the slightest but getting away from it would require him to stand and he’s not sure he can, right now. He’s not sure of anything beyond the smoke he inhales and the way the floor is warming up under his palm.

 

He compromises and rolls on his back. His eyes are stinging from smoke and the coughing fit, blurry with tears. His ears are ringing like the bells of hell, so loud it drowns everything until his head feels like it’s about to split open from the sound, and his eyes are stinging from the smoke and the coughing fit. He blinks furiously to clear them but it’s useless, and all he sees is a shadowy figure on a fiery backdrop. It’s so bright it hurts and he can’t make heads or tails of it—

 

He thinks someone might be screaming but it sounds like it’s coming from behind the glass of an aquarium.

 

“...ack. Jack. _Jack!_ ”

 

Slowly, it all comes into focus again, red bleeding into the grayscale of the abandoned warehouse, voices drowned out into the roaring of the flames. The dark shape sharpens into Gabriel, crouched above him with angry eyes and worry etched in his features. His hand rests heavy on Jack’s shoulder. His scream pierces through the chaos and drags him out of it— an anchor keeping him from sinking into the storm.

 

“ _Gabe_ ,” Jack breathes out in fear and relief. It’s a wonder he can even hear himself: his voice sounds weak, ragged —it sounds like he’s been gargling with gravel. Maybe he doesn’t hear it, just feels it whistling in his throat and mistakes his thoughts for sounds.

 

“Fuck, you scared the hell out of me.”

 

Jack leans on his arms to sit up and lets out a pained groan when he discovers that absolutely everything hurts. There’s a high-pitched whine under the sound of panic, an auditory afterimage carved into his eardrums. He puts his hand to his ear and it comes out clean of blood. Small mercies.

 

A hand enters his field of view. He takes it without hesitation and Gabriel hauls him up with effort. Jack forgets to stand on his feet and crashes into his chest once he’s up — Gabriel puts his arms around his waist to keep him upright.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Are _you?_ ” Jack asks. He puts his hands on either side of Gabriel’s face and looks into his eyes like he’ll find his answer here. He breathes out slowly when he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary and tries to wipe a streak of blood with his thumb. It only manages to spread it further.

 

“Bit banged up but I’ll live.” Gabe briefly leans into the touch before he steps away. “Come on, we gotta get out of here.”

 

Jack nods and freezes as the whole situation hits him like a train. Skullface, the explosion, the children—

 

He almost falls back down in his haste to look for the kids. Gabriel presses one hand to his chest to steady him and points to the children curled behind their improvised cover. They were further away from the blast than them both but he still waits until he sees some of them start standing up before he lets out the breath he was holding.

 

“Oh god,” He sighs and puts his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder before he falls on his face. Everything still hurts. “This mission will be the death of me.”

 

“We don’t have the time for that, Morrison,” Gabriel says and seems profoundly unconcerned by his oncoming death when he pats his hand. He takes his radio and turns it on. “Is everyone alright?”

 

The only thing that replies to him is static. He frowns. It’s not unexpected, not after the impact, but it’s still an issue.

 

After a while, the radio crackles and an indistinct voice says, “We’re alive, surprisingly.”

 

This time it’s Gabriel who seems to deflate in relief. “Singh, never thought I’d be happy to hear your voice. You all found cover?”

 

“Yessir. Some of us are missing some facial hair though.”

 

“Leave that mourning to your wife and get your ass to the hostages ASAP. We need to evacuate before the whole building fall on us.”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

The line cuts abruptly and Gabriel turns to Emily while Jack looks around in growing horror. The large room is obscured by a cloud of smoke that hides everything but the hellish glow of the flames that are slowly consuming the old warehouse. It’s in such a state of disarray it’s a wonder it’s still standing right now, and Jack feels his skin itch at the idea. He doesn’t know how he managed to miss the fact that it’s burning, despite choking on the smoke and almost feeling the fire licking at his feet.

 

He rests his fingers on the side of his head and wonders how hard he really hit it when Gabriel dragged him down.

 

But as Gabriel said, there’s no time to panic now. He might have a concussion but that won’t stop him from doing his job — never has before.

 

He looks at the children and bites his lip. They’re crying and coughing; it’s clear that they have a very narrow window of opportunity before the smoke of who-knows-what’s being burnt does lasting damages to them. He knew none of them would get out of here without scars, but the gaping hole in his chest widens each second he’s not doing something against it.

 

Finally, he hears the pounding of boots on the ruined floor above the growling fire and the rest of the team appears out of the smoke like an army of ghosts. “It’s going to be alright,” He repeats to the children, and wonders who he’s trying to convince.

 

Gabriel, bless him, takes the control of the situation — and Jack’s head hurts too much to stress over it.

 

“Each one of you, take a kid, and _get out_ ,” He orders them.

 

The soldiers stumble on each other in their hurry to get to the rest of the hostages. Jack placates the terrified children with words neither he nor they hear while the soldiers tries desperately to hold both their weapons and their charge. He sees a few leave their rifle there and doesn’t have it in himself to remind them of how expensive their gear is. They know. It doesn’t matter.

 

Diana refuses to let go of Jack’s shirt during the whole ordeal. He takes her in his arms and nods at Gabriel. They’re as ready as they’ll ever be.

 

Gabriel hoists Emily up on his shoulders in a firearm carry like she weighs nothing and barks, “Let’s go!”

 

Jack starts running. He trips on the uneven ground more than once and each time there’s a moment as he’s pitching forward when the background fog of panic in his mind sharpens into a spike of pain that pierces through his head. The ever present and visceral fear of dying that follows adrenaline settles in his chest, a little deeper each time he stumbles and his heart skips a beat. It makes him tighten his hold on Diana and run faster, try to outrun the fire itself.

 

His bones feel like they’re going to break when his boot hit the ground and his breath comes out in short, raspy gasps. His lungs burn harder than the flames around them, like he’s surrounded by fire and filled with it too.

 

Jack has never felt so alive.

 

Diana sobs are cut by a hiccup and she half-chokes on her next breath. Jack doesn’t stop but his heart does, and when it comes back to life it’s faster and harder, beating against his ribs like it wants to jump out. He keeps up a constant stream of nonsensical words for both of their sakes. “Come on, stay with me Diana. You wanna see your brother again, don’t you? I swear it’ll be okay, we’ll get you out of here and all your friends too, stay awake, come on—”

 

A shiver makes her entire body shake despite the heat. She buries her face in his shoulder and breathes in. Jack breathes out.

 

“Hold on, kid, we’re almost out of here.”

 

He hears the warehouse crumbling around them more than he sees it through the haze of smoke and adrenaline. Both burns equally, in his throat and in his veins, and they make him go faster, just a little bit further, a few steps and they can put this behind them—

 

In the end, they’re the last to get out, or they would be if they actually got out. Instead, there is only a few feet between the door and them, and a part of the roof falls in the shallow space. Jagged shards of white-hot metal falls around and over them. Jack curls over Diana protectively.

 

He doesn’t stop to think — he stops thinking. They’re so close, and the flames are biting at his heels like hellhounds: he can’t turn around and find another door.

 

He lets instinct — the cold-burning lightning strike inside him — take over and jumps through the flames.

 

Jack lands _hard_ on the ground outside and makes a few semi-accidental rolls into the dirt before he stops, three feet away from the warehouse’s doors.

 

He’s dizzy and burning hot, with darkness crawling in the corner of his eyes. It’s hard to breath, hard to know where he is, hard to do anything but lays on his back and try to gather his thoughts. Diana doesn’t move and a part of him, still alert despite the beating he’s taken, worries he might have acted too late — but no, she’s breathing, and shaking too. He’s pretty sure dead little girl don’t do that.

 

They’re alive.

 

He’s not sure how he did it but, well, he’ll take it.

 

“Jack!” Ana’s face appears from nowhere and hides the dark sky from him. He offers her a crooked smile. He tastes ashes on his lips, ashes and blood.

 

Someone takes Diana away and it takes him a second to remember to loosen his hold and let go of her. The lack of weight on his chest _does_ make it easier to breath.

 

Or maybe it’s relief. He’s alive, they’re alive, all of them, breathing and talking at the edge of his consciousness. Talking. He doesn’t hear a word of what they say, but it’s alright.

 

They’re alive.

 

Ana’s lips are moving. He tries to pay attention to what she’s saying. Each word cut through his mind and gets lost into the fog that inhabits it. He definitely has a concussion.

 

Finally, a few manage to make their way to his consciousness, if only because he’s so used to hearing them. “We’ve worked together for a decade and I still have no idea how you managed to stay alive for so long.”

 

“Slowly, Ana, my head hurts.”

 

“Yeah, smoke tends to do that.” She helps him up and pats him on the shoulder. She gestures at his face. “Let’s go get you some water, and some bandages for that cut.” As an afterthought, she adds, “You did good in there, kid.”

 

Jack touches his forehead lightly and is surprised to see his fingers come back sticky with blood. The pain got lost in the fog, like all the rest. When everything hurts, nothing really hurt anymore.

 

“Don’t call me kid,” He whines and kind of stumbles after her. She takes his arm and half-drags, half-supports him away from the burning building. He’s getting tired of not being able to walk straight on his own but it’s hard to pay attention to where he puts his feet right now. “You’re barely a decade older than I am.”

 

She lets out a slightly strained chuckle and doesn’t reply. It doesn’t bother him as much as he pretends it does: they’ve known each others for years now and he never managed to make her stop calling him names. The man who can make Ana do something she doesn’t want to is not born yet, and Jack doubts he’ll ever be.

 

Everything is spinning around him, like he’s on the deck of a ship in a storm. Lights fly and sway across his sight — the blinking red-and-blue lights of police cars and ambulances blend with the burning embers of the fire, and stars shine faintly through the rising smoke, bright white against the pitch black night sky. Jack is faintly relieved for Ana’s guiding hand around his wrist. He’d get lost without it. Maybe he should tell her he doesn’t feel so good, but she has bigger issues to deal with right now. It can wait. He’s not dead yet.

 

Ana shoves him in Gabriel’s direction as she goes to bully a water bottle off the paramedics and Jack, in all his predictable, concussed glory, doesn’t question it and joins his best friend. Gabriel is either talking to or interrogating Emily — he tends to have the same look for both —, arms crossed over his chest and frowning. Jack comes to stand next to him and pretends he knows what’s going on.

 

It’s easy to get lost in Gabriel’s voice; it’s low and deep, familiar and warm, and he stands so close that it feels like it echoes in his bones. Although that might be the aftershock of his numerous falls today. With the cold wind brushing against his feverish skin and the adrenaline high crashing into bone-deep exhaustion, he’s halfway to falling asleep on his feet already. Gabriel doesn’t look too good himself: when Jack glances in his direction, he looks like he’d like to pass out on the spot.

 

“Are you sure they’re all there?” He asks Emily.

 

She wets her lips and stares into nothing, thinking about it. “I— it’s a class of fourteen children. There’s Elizabeth, Hugo—”

 

He waves her off. “I don’t need the total headcount.” Then, he turns to Jack, who stands a bit straighter and narrows his eyes in an effort to make the world stand still for a moment. “How many did you see in there?”

 

Truth is: he didn’t count. He tries to remember the scene. “Fourteen kids,” he says, and doesn’t add the ‘I think’ that burns his tongues. He’s supposed to be a professional, dammit, even when it’s hard to think.

 

“Shit,” Gabriel eloquently says, and starts jogging toward the warehouse.

 

Jack, of course, follows. “What is it?”

 

“Our intel was off. We’re fourteen, and there were fifteen hostages,” He says. “If I carried the teacher out of the building, and everyone else took one kid— that means there’s one still inside.”

 

Jack immediately knows what Gabriel has in mind. He jerks his head sideways and takes Gabriel’s arm to force him to stop. “No, no— Gabe. It’s too dangerous.”

 

“I have to try, Jack. You know I do.”

 

He looks at Jack like he’s begging him to understand and the worse thing is: Jack does. He understands why Gabriel thinks jumping back into hell is the best option. But he doesn’t like it, no more than he likes being the one showing some common sense here. Usually it’s the other way around, Jack wanting to run off into danger and Gabriel talking him out of it.

 

His head hurts and nothing makes sense anymore.

 

“We’ll just have two bodies instead of one if you do.” Then, quieter, “ _Please_ , Gabe. There’s nothing you can do.”

 

“I have to try,” He says again, but it’s quieter — maybe it’s as hard to say it as it is to hear it. “I’m sorry.”

 

Gabriel looks down, to Jack’s hand around his wrist, and he’s never looked quite as desperate as he does when he yanks his arm off Jack’s hold. He looks like he’s begging him not to make this harder for either of them and Jack wants to keep him there and never let him go.

 

Instead he doesn’t — can’t — do anything but stand there as Gabriel runs toward the building falling apart under the flames. By the time he drags himself out of his daze, fear so deep he doesn’t feel it anymore, Gabriel has thrown one of the side doors open and disappeared inside.

 

“Gabe!”

 

He’s running too. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until Ana throws her arm around his midsection to hold him back, and he scratches at her fingers in an useless attempt to make her let go. Nobody can force Ana to do anything. He should know that by now.

 

“What are you trying to do, make the body count rise?” She barks. “Snap out of it, Jack!”

 

Whatever she was about to say next is drowned out by the terrible sound of what’s left of the warehouse’s roof collapsing into the building itself. Metal shrieks as it is swallowed by the roaring flames. And Gabriel is in there.

 

“ _Gabe!_ ” The scream tears itself out of his throat and he’s lunging forward, arm outstretched, like he could reach for Gabriel just like that, breach the gaping void between the two of them in a step.

 

A part of him is faintly aware of two of the soldiers helping Ana in restraining him but all he can think of is Gabriel burning, Gabriel dying, Gabriel, _Gabe—_

 

No dark figure emerges from the fire in heroic glory. There’s no last minute victory here, no miracle, only the cold darkness of the night behind the smoke. Nothing but the creeping sense of loss taking hold of his heart.

 

All the fight goes out of him all at once. His teammates wait for a moment and then let go of him and Jack crumbles to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut. He curls over himself, arms tight across his chest, bloody forehead pressed to the dusty ground. Try to fold himself in the space left by Gabriel. His wordless scream of anguish breaks with his voice and he can do nothing but sob and repeat, his voice hoarse with smoke and overuse, an endless mantra of ‘ _Gabe_ ’. Like he could bring him back if he repeated his name enough times. Sirens wail in the distance, too late, _too late_. The fire has swallowed everything.

 

Darkness crawl at the edge of his consciousness. Jack welcomes it.

 

Everything fades into black.

**Author's Note:**

> *hand waves details into the sun* idk either
> 
> If you can’t picture the warehouse: it’s ok me neither [here’s a picture](https://youngster-monster.tumblr.com/post/163578486406/because-if-i-dont-understand-what-the-fuck-is) (it's my writing blog I use it to rant at myself about how much it sucks to write)


End file.
